The Empty Desk
by RedCoatsRedder
Summary: Hamilton's desk is empty when Jefferson comes into the offices one morning.
1. Chapter 1

**My latest one shot! Idea came to me at two AM. Enjoy!**

 **Almost nothing is historically accurate. I don't care. Enjoy anyways.**

Jefferson hadn't read the newspapers that morning. He hadn't known. If he had, if he did, maybe the empty desk wouldn't have surprised him as much. Maybe.

When he'd passed by the room Hamilton usually worked in, he'd expected to find the man hard at work like always. Looking a bit sleep deprived, in need of proper food, just like always. But that morning, the room and the desk were both devoid of their usual occupant.

The odd thing was Hamilton had come in just two days ago. He'd been a little quieter than was typical for him, and though this was definitely not a bad thing, it had been surprising. The feisty immigrant had seemed almost subdued.

And _why_ was everyone else acting so odd? When Jefferson walked into the twelve o'clock meeting, there was none of the usual chatter and small talk. The room was silent as a tomb. Just like it had been all day. Honestly, this was getting ridiculous. Jefferson put on his most cheerful and winning smile, and loudly asked, "What's with the gloomy mood today, everyone? You're all acting like someone has died!"

He expected for the mood to lighten, or at least see a few smiles. Nothing. He received a few disgusted looks, though. A far cry from what he had been aiming for.

"Mr. President, please tell us you are not serious." His secretary of treasury, Albert Gallatin, spoke up. "Surely you know exactly who has died, and even though we know you never got along, you musn't act so pleased, sir."

What on _earth_ was going on? Jefferson looked around incredulously. "Yes, I am serious. What are you all talking about? Who has died? And has anyone seen Hamilton today?"

Everyone averted their eyes. His longtime friend, and now secretary of state, James Madison, grasped his arm. "Thomas," he said softly, "Hamilton is dead."

Oh god. Jefferson suddenly felt almost faint. Yes, he had never gotten along with Hamilton, but that didn't mean he wanted the man dead. James was still speaking.

"...a duel. Yesterday morning, in New Jersey. Weehawken, to be exact. The newspapers all talked about it. He was hit in the ribs, died early this morning." James finished.

Jefferson took a deep breath. "Who was his opponent? I didn't read the newspapers this morning."

"Aaron Burr, Mr. President." One of the men in the back of the room called out.

Burr. His own vice president had been involved in a duel. And actually fired a gun? Burr, of all people? Besides, he thought he and Hamilton had been on better terms lately.

Maybe not since the election, though. After all, it had been a choice between Jefferson and Burr, not to mention with Hamilton's efforts to ensure that Burr would not be the one to wind up with the presidency. That would tick anyone off, Jefferson mused.

Gathering his composure and trying to make it seem as though he wasn't as affected by the news as he really was, Jefferson straightened. "Alright. Someone please find Mr. Burr and bring him in. Dueling is not legal in New York, so there's a small chance he might be guilty of murdering Mr. Hamilton. I don't know if Mrs. Hamilton will choose to press charges or not, but in the event that she does Mr. Burr will need to be informed of his trial. Dismissed."

As soon as the room emptied, James approached him. "Thomas? Are you okay? I mean, Albert was right, we all know you two never saw eye to eye, but this has affected everyone, whether they meant it to or not."

"I'm fine, James. Fine. Just trying to carry out my responsibilities and get justice done." Thomas didn't (couldn't) meet his friend's gaze. Technically, duels were not the President's responsibility, but this one was important. Almost, _almost_ personal.

…

There was never any trial for Burr. The charges were dropped. Jefferson and James attended Hamilton's funeral.

It was a huge affair. There was a long procession, and the streets were full of people who wanted to say goodbye to the man. Hamilton's horse, with his boots reversed in the stirrups, walked through the streets. He was buried in Trinity Churchyard, as guns were fired into the air. A salute.

Jefferson saw Eliza from a distance. She was being comforted by her sister, Angelica (who was terrifying, by the way) and her older children. The younger ones didn't know what was going on.

It was incredibly sobering.

…

The next day, Jefferson came to Hamilton's grave alone. He brought some flowers, though he wasn't exactly sure why.

"Hey, Hamilton. So, I know we hated each other when you were still alive, and you probably still hate me. And I still hate you, so I really don't know what I'm doing here. I guess I just wanted to tell you that a little while ago, I came to the offices, and your desk was empty. And it felt odd, like you'd always been there and there wasn't any reason for you not to be there. Then my secretary of the treasury told me what had happened, that you'd died. And I guess it was odd. I mean, I know that death comes for us all in the end, but you seemed so untouched by it, even though you made it through the war and you lost your own son to a duel. But I also wanted to thank you, for the work you did with the financial system. It has helped a lot. But no one ever heard me say this, so between us, this never happened. Got it? Good. Okay. Goodbye, Hamilton." Jefferson patted the gravestone awkwardly.

As he turned to leave, he whispered softly, "See you on the other side."

 **Sooo, too sappy? Not sappy enough? And yes, Jefferson really did sober up after he learned about the duel. Fun fact: Aaron Burr tried to start an empire in modern day Texas and almost got arrested for it. Anyways, hope you all liked that! Children of a New Nation will be updated soon, don't worry. ~RedCoatsRedder**


	2. At the End of the Day

**This wasn't supposed to have a sequel. But it does. Now.**

Thomas Jefferson was old. He'd had a long, eventful, meaningful life. He wrote the Declaration of Independence, he was Secretary of State, and President. He'd purchased a massive amount of land from France, doubling the size of their country.

In all his eighty three years, he'd done so much. Accomplished so much. And now, well, he was tired.

The sun rose. The sun set. He watched it all, listened to the sounds of the world going on around him. He'd come to appreciate it, long ago.

A man who he'd never called friend, whose death had been so sudden and unexpected, much too soon, far too soon, had opened his eyes. Pay attention to the world, while you're in it.

Alexander Hamilton's death opened his eyes to the little things. Because one day, the smallest thing could be gone and it might just leave you scrambling.

Hamilton had been small. No doubt. And they hated each other. But still. Him being gone had left a sense of wrongness in the world.

He was so, so tired. His friend, James Madison, still lived. They wrote and visited as often as they could.

Today was a good day. It was a hard day. It was July Fourth, the anniversary of the freeing of America.

But he lay on his deathbed, in his home, in Monticello. The house was silent. Nearly everyone was gathered in his room. He looked around, at the faces of people he loved and cared deeply about, whose company he had cherished up until this moment.

His sleep was restless. The doctor had been giving him something, but he woke, briefly. Someone who he couldn't see sat beside him.

"This is the Fourth of July. Is it the Fourth?" One of the people nodded. Ah. So long ago, they had first declared their freedom. So long ago….

The doctor was back, curse him. He waved his hand drowsily. "No, doctor. Nothing more."

His hold was slipping. He called for his servants in the house. When they were assembled, he spoke to them. And then, almost as if there was a little voice in the corner of his mind, telling him, _it's time to go. It's time._

Thomas Jefferson closes his eyes for the last time.

And opens them again. There is light, there is something. Like joy has permeated the very air.

Suddenly, he's surrounded by people. His wife, his children, his family. Tears are streaming down everyone's faces, there is laughter and crying and he's so _so happy._ It feels like coming home, even though he's left his house far behind.

There are others, too. He shakes hands with different people he'd met over his life, who had passed before him. Among them is former President Washington.

And then. He sees him, standing not far off, dressed in that stupid green suit and coat. Hamilton smiles at him.

Jefferson laughs once, softly. And then he's striding towards the man, shaking his hand before clapping his shoulder.

"Mr. Jefferson."

"Hamilton." Thomas takes a deep breath. "Um, your death was sudden. And eye opening. And a little shocking."

Hamilton chuckles. "Are you saying you missed me? Oh, and I saw your flowers. Thank you, that was a lovely gesture. And I don't have anyone to argue with, so I suppose I'm glad you're here too."

Thomas Jefferson was eighty three when he died. He felt like twenty five when he was reunited with those he lost so long ago.

When his eyes had been opened with the death of his colleague, they could rest easy seeing him again, knowing they'd done something that would shape the future.

He had been so tired, and now he was, at last, at peace.


End file.
